


closer to the rising sun

by alamorn



Category: Dredd (2012)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/pseuds/alamorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd never jump, but she's not going to say no to a push, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	closer to the rising sun

They call her Ma-Ma and she’s never had a maternal instinct in her life. It’s ironic, see? Caleb calls them — the people of Peach Trees — her children, and he always makes sure to do it when she’s having some killed, or they’ve just found out a new side-effect. Slo-Mo causes brain hemorrhages when used too frequently. She makes sure to limit her usage after they figure that out, but there’s no point in cutting sales by letting anyone else know.

Caleb doesn’t use. Caleb doesn’t look at her naked body with anything but the professional detachment of a doctor. So, she loves him, or as close as she’ll ever be able to love anyone. He stands at her shoulder and shoots, and he’s always stood at her shoulder, and he’s always shot. If she’d had a brother, he’d probably be like Caleb. Well. She probably does have a brother or two, somewhere. She wasn’t the first in the family to join the oldest profession.

But, see, all that’s not important. What’s important is, she wasn’t scared until she saw Caleb thrown from the destroyed floor like nothing more than a broken doll. He was her muscle, her shooting arm, the only constant. Well. The greed and stupidity of the general populace was pretty constant as well. You can always rely on people to destroy themselves, if only you give them a way.

But, see — she has difficulty thinking sometimes. It’s all the shit she’s inhaled or snorted or shot, her thoughts bounce one way and another, going too slow or too fast. She talks slow to compensate, her mouth giving her brain time to keep up. She practices in her head. Or she just goes with her first instinct, which, well, you could probably guess, but it’s a knife, and you don’t really need words when you have that. But, see, before she wasn’t afraid. Annoyed, yes, disappointed, put-out, any of those words you want to use that mean concerned in a vague, mostly unconcerned way. They only had to kill Kay, after all, and Kay was a survivor, true, but she was a better one. Kay was stupid, let his lust and his anger and his desire to please get in the way of actually doing things. Kay wanted to be a big man on the block, wanted to take her place. If he had it, he’d be dead in a day. So, when they really only had to worry about killing Kay, or two lone Judges at most, that seemed manageable. She’d dealt with Judges before, and mostly they were just people with fancy guns and a stick up their ass.

But after — after she saw Caleb hoisted by his neck, and thrown screaming and struggling, she felt the first real stirrings of fear she’d had since her face got cut up. It settles down quick enough — suicidal is a strong word but not the wrong one, exactly. She’s been waiting and waiting, and God, of course she’d never make it easy but she’s slipped up. She’s slipped up bad and if only her enemies were smarter or faster or stronger she’d be dead. Dead and done, just like Caleb is now, and she watched Caleb fall and watched him hit and watched the Judge fade back into the smoke and dust and she felt wide awake for the first time in years.


End file.
